Riled (The Invincibles 4)

“Cortez? Dinner,” I heard my mother’s voice from the other room.

“Come,” I said, kissing the back of her hand. “The sooner we finish dinner, the sooner we can be alone.”

As we went back around the corner, I knew we would not be able to rush off by ourselves as I’d momentarily planned, for seated at the table, were my uncle and aunt.

A traditional Pavo Trufado de Navidad was served, including turkey stuffed with truffles, a vast assortment of seafood, and an array of desserts similar to what Kensington and I had eaten the evening before.

“We missed you at esta noche de dormir,” said my aunt.

When I was a boy, the night before Christmas had been my favorite of the year. After the midnight service, La Misa Del Gallo or the Mass of the Rooster, it was Spanish tradition to walk through the streets, carrying torches, playing guitars, and beatin

g on tambourines and drums. This went on until sunrise. As the saying went, “Esta noche es Nochebuena, y no es noche de dormir,” which meant “Tonight is the good night and it is not meant for sleeping!”

My eyes met Kensington’s, and she smiled. We’d celebrated the night not meant for sleeping in our own way.

“My dear,” my uncle began, “I fondly remember the first time your grandfather took Juan and I skeet shooting…”

By the end of the story, we were all laughing uproariously and Kensington was adding stories of her own. She was not only beautiful, charming, and intelligent, she fit in as though she’d known my family for years—because she had.

Celestina had never been comfortable with them, even after we were married. Had I suggested we visit Zarzuela for the holidays, she would’ve begged me to stay on Mallorca. I momentarily closed my eyes. Forgive me, my love, for disparaging your memory.

“You have kept me on a pedestal too long, Cort. You’ve made it so no one could live up to me, and yet this one is much better suited to you.”

When my mother cleared her throat, I met her gaze and stood to help with her chair. “Join me, Cortez,” she said, leading me from the room.

“Have you heard anything about Habsburg?”

“Konstantine or Otto?”

“Either.”

“I have not, Mother.”

“Please excuse yourself and check.”

I knew better than to ever doubt my mother’s intuition. I sent a group text to Decker, Smoke, and Siren, asking for an update.

Smoke responded first. OVH is awake and ready to talk, he reported.

Interesting, I thought to myself as I rubbed my lower lip with my finger. Konstantine’s cousin was alive and ready to divulge who had tried to kill him—I had no doubt it hadn’t been an accident. I was also certain of his assailant. What I didn’t know was why Konstantine would want his cousin dead.

After dinner, the entire family, the King and Queen included, left the palace grounds to deliver food and gifts to those less fortunate. Each year, where they went was kept a secret until the very last minute.

I understood the security nightmare posed by this annual event; however, I also knew my uncle. If anyone had suggested to him that he not honor the annual tradition, they would not have liked his response.

I was pleased when our caravan pulled up to the Hospital Infantil Universitario Niño Jesús. Armed with gifts for the children in the hospital, their siblings and parents, along with the doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff, we were divided into groups to make our deliveries.

Naturally, Angel and Casper were with Kensington and I. Since we were joined by six members of palace security, they too were able to participate in the fun.

Each time, it was the mother of the ill child whom Kensington immediately gravitated to. I found it interesting, given her relationship with her own mother. But then, her mother hadn’t raised Kensington, her grandmother had.

“I received an update regarding Otto von Habsburg. He has come out of his coma,” I said to Kensington after we returned to the palace.

“He’s alive?” she asked, turning in my arms as we watched the dancing flames in the fireplace of the room my parents chose for us.

I nodded and then brought my lips to hers. “Another Christmas miracle, I suppose.”

“Another?”